Cotter Pyke lunged at the Kingslayer, raising his right arm high and bringing it down with immense force. Accompanied by a growl born of exertion.

It was a straightforward strike, but during Cotter’s not-so-short career in the Night’s Watch, at least three novice Free Folk raiders had been stunned into inaction by this powerful axe swing, their skulls cracked before they even saw the second blow. If one had to describe it: powerful, fast, fierce, and terrifying.

…

The argument had dragged a bit, but the fight broke out so suddenly. Still, it wasn’t the longest foreplay Jaime had experienced. Remaining alert, he wasn’t caught off guard. Instead, he deftly twisted and lightly parried the axe with his sword, causing Cotter’s first swing to miss by mere inches. Val’s initial scream only ended when the axe had swung past.

Only the slowest opponents would fall to this kind of strike. Cotter never expected the famous Kingslayer to be as dull as a green Wildling. But—he was dual-wielding. His right-hand attack had been blocked, but his left hand was still free.

The muscles along the left side of his chest, back, shoulder, arm, palm, and even fingers instantly tensed in preparation, then tightened as he swung the second axe with great force. But Jaime’s counterattack came at the same moment.

The cold gleam of steel thrust toward Cotter’s eyes. He tilted his head back slightly to dodge and simultaneously pulled his right hand back, raising the battleaxe to guard his chest, ready to block any follow-up thrust from Jaime.

(Excellent!)

Cotter was inwardly thrilled. This way, he could defend with his right hand and continue attacking with his left. Unless Jaime retreated a full step beyond his axe’s range, he would certainly suffer under this combo.

And once the Kingslayer stepped back, he’d pursue with relentless strikes.

But things didn’t go as planned. Jaime’s steel sword didn’t pursue wildly as Cotter expected. Instead, it feinted, performing a dummy thrust before withdrawing cleanly, held vertically at his side, now positioned in an extremely vexing spot. The sword’s reach was much longer than the short axe. If Cotter insisted on swinging his left-hand axe, even if the blade hit its mark, his arm would most certainly be severed by Jaime’s sword.

(Damn it. Was it just luck, or did he immediately see through my move?)

Cotter cursed inwardly, but had no time to ponder. He was forced to stop midway, withdrawing the second swing already in motion.

Suddenly pulling back a strike was a cardinal sin in combat. While the interruption itself wasn’t fatal, the momentum already expended wouldn’t simply vanish—he now had to use new force to counteract the momentum before making any further moves.

In that instant, the veteran warrior found himself vulnerable, stuck between spent strength and new force not yet formed.

This slight flaw might have been negligible when fighting Free Folk, but in the eyes of a master swordsman like Jaime Lannister, it was as conspicuous as if he had left himself wide open.

The Kingslayer’s steel sword shifted from passive to active in the blink of an eye, executing a small flourish before slashing downward with great force, identical to his first strike, targeting Cotter’s face.

Though it appeared slender and light compared to the axe, the steel sword struck with just as much power.

(Gods!)

A victor had yet to be decided, but in terms of sheer force, this pampered Lannister was in no way inferior.

Cotter’s hair stood on end. Before the recoil from his aborted swing had fully dissipated, he quickly raised both axes and crossed them with all his might, managing to block Jaime’s sword with a harsh clang.

His hands tingled from the impact. This Kingslayer truly had skill.

…

Usually, after a round of strikes, with weapons locked and no one injured, there were two paths forward—either push hard to overpower the opponent or disengage and search for another opening. Their eyes met. Jaime smiled faintly and stepped forward with his left leg.

(He wants to test strength? I may be old, but I’ve never feared anyone!)

Cotter widened his eyes, straightened his back, and pushed forward like a bull.

But in the next moment, Jaime did something completely unexpected—he lifted his right leg and kicked Cotter hard in the stomach.

To the onlookers, it looked as though Cotter had charged forward to offer up his belly for the kick.

Thud—

“Ugh!”

The force he had built up for the grapple collapsed instantly. Cotter staggered back with a muffled groan, nearly dropping his battleaxes.

“Ohhhh—” came a wave of mixed gasps and chuckles from the surrounding black brothers, some excited, some mocking. The Eastwatch men behind Cotter instinctively stepped forward, ready to support their commander.

But Jaime didn’t press the attack. Cotter steadied himself after stumbling back several steps. The veteran gripped his stomach and stared at Jaime as though he had seen a ghost.

(How did he do that?)

To the average black brother, it looked like Cotter had simply traded a blow and got kicked while disengaging, taking a small loss. But in Cotter’s mind, a storm raged: He had been kicked. Jaime… could actually kick someone mid-swordplay?

—

Lifting a leg and kicking forward—on the surface, not difficult. But in armed combat, it was not so simple. Anyone with combat training knew how crucial it was to maintain a stable lower body while wielding a weapon. With only two legs supporting a body burdened by heavy metal, the center of gravity shifted higher than normal. Movements, attacks, and defenses constantly challenged one’s balance. In such a situation, lifting one leg to do anything else risked total imbalance.

The result? You either fell, or had to make rapid compensations with your arms or body.

No one forbade using one’s legs in armed combat, but most only used them defensively or to target the opponent’s legs. Few dared to use them for high kicks—because it was too difficult and rarely worth the risk.

Cotter imagined himself dual-wielding axes while also attempting a kick… and had to reluctantly admit: he couldn’t do it.

That kick reflected Jaime’s mastery over his own body, his understanding of balance, his grasp of offensive and defensive rhythm, and impeccable timing. In short—this man’s combat genius was on full display.

In hindsight, Jaime’s earlier counter might not have been luck at all.

—

The pain in Cotter’s stomach gradually faded. Thanks to thick winter clothing and a hardened leather layer beneath, he hadn’t been incapacitated. This whole exchange, though long in the telling, had happened in mere seconds. But the sheer amount of information revealed was more than enough for those with eyes to see.

Ser Jeremy Rykker was one of them. Jaime’s elegant, completely unexpected kick had stunned him… causing him to miss the best moment to stop the fight.

“Lady Val, could you do me a favor?” Jaime didn’t press the advantage and instead turned to speak to the woman behind him.

“Huh?”

“First, step back a bit. You’re too close, it’s affecting my performance. Second, please stop screaming. It’s quite distracting.”

Jaime made the requests sincerely, but his timing couldn’t have been worse. Dueling a man while chatting up a woman? To the onlookers, it came off as blatant contempt—for both his opponent and the vows of the Night’s Watch. Amid the jeers and hoots from the crowd, and before several officers could intervene, Cotter Pyke, having caught his breath, roared and charged again.

He spun, using centrifugal force to swing both axes—one high, one low—at Jaime’s shoulder and waist from the same side. This exposed his own back and flank, but greatly increased power and aggression. If the opponent tried to exploit this opening, even if successful, he wouldn’t be able to dodge the incoming axes. Even if he blocked one, he wouldn’t have time for the other.

Injury for injury. The Lannisters pride themselves on superiority? Let’s see if you’re willing to trade your precious life for mine, pretty boy.

This whirlwind attack worked. Jaime was forced to take a step back. The twin axes roared past him, but Cotter didn’t stop—he completed the rotation, using momentum to continue his assault.

Cotter spun forward, swinging wildly, pushing Jaime back two steps with every turn. Whatever Jaime had said earlier now meant little. Val had indeed stepped back, but she still cried out in alarm.

The black brothers surrounding them roared in excitement. Cotter Pyke’s crazed assault was certainly spectacular to the untrained eye. They shouted for Jaime’s counterattack.

Jaime didn’t keep them waiting. Though Cotter’s spinning assault was dangerous, it was also energy-draining—and most importantly, dizzying.

Jaime took one step back, then another, then a third. On the fourth, he suddenly planted both feet. The instinct honed through countless battles surged forth. In an instant, he reversed from retreating to charging. As Cotter wound up for another chop, Jaime lunged—three rapid steps.

Fast. Precise. Smooth. Like he had rehearsed it a thousand times. His boots left pale impressions on the frost-covered ground. One moment, he was two meters away. The next, he crashed into Cotter’s chest.

Bang! He slammed into Cotter, halting his forward momentum. At the same time, he raised his sword and used the flat of the blade near the hilt to block all possible angles of the incoming axes. Then, nearly chest-to-chest, before the veteran could react, Jaime raised a hand—and slapped him.

A thunder of boos erupted from the crowd, while the Westermen roared with pride for their lord’s flawless execution.

This slap wasn’t as dramatic as the earlier kick. In one-handed sword techniques, a swordsman was trained to use their off-hand in auxiliary combat, such as seizing an opening to strike the opponent’s face. Everyone knew the theory. But to pull it off so smoothly, in the middle of a high-speed clash, was something few among the Night’s Watch had ever seen.

For The Wall, whose enemies were mostly Free Folk, such refined techniques were far too advanced. No one had reason to learn them.

…

Jaime wasn’t wearing a gauntlet, nor brass knuckles or any other brutal accessory, which Cotter could count as a blessing. But taking a full-force, unrestrained slap to the unarmored face from a powerful warrior like the Kingslayer?

Cotter now knew exactly how that felt. His vision blurred with stars. His brain rattled like mush. He instinctively shoved Jaime away and swung both axes wildly to prevent pursuit, stumbling backward, far removed from the ferocity he’d shown just moments ago.

In less than a minute, Cotter had charged Jaime twice. Once, he was kicked back. The second time, slapped. Even the most inexperienced onlookers could now see the truth: the Commander of Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, a top warrior of the Night’s Watch, was no match for the Kingslayer in single combat. The skill gap was vast. This wasn’t about luck or effort. Even if Cotter tried ten thousand times, he wouldn’t win.

That thrilling, back-and-forth contest with slick maneuvers? That wasn’t happening today.

As the former Lord of Runestone and second only to the head of House Arryn in the Vale, Yohn Royce had keen judgment. If this were a real duel, Cotter Pyke would already be dead twice over. This damned Kingslayer… his strength was truly monstrous.

He gave a look to his men. Two black brothers from Eastwatch rushed out and dragged their dazed Commander back into the crowd before he could embarrass himself a third time.

“Looks like Lord Cotter’s attempt to step over my corpse has failed,” Jaime said calmly, lowering his steel sword and surveying the yard. “Does anyone else want to try?”

There were few in Castle Black, or along the entire Wall, or even the North, who could match this man. Yohn looked at the bruised and dazed Cotter Pyke and knew he couldn’t rely on anyone else. He turned to the other officers.

“My lords, this is rebellion! If we allow him to take away the King-Beyond-the-Wall’s family today, the Night’s Watch will no longer uphold its discipline!”

“Whether it’s rebellion or not, it’s not for you to decide!” Val shot back. “Forcing us to stay and fall victim to some vile plot, provoking a rift between the New Gift People and the Night’s Watch, wrecking the Wall’s defenses, giving the White Walkers a chance to slip through and end humanity… that would be the true crime!”

Jeremy Rykker clenched his fists, glaring at Jaime with a mix of anger and helplessness. The Kingslayer was clearly determined to disobey today. But what could he do? Order his men to attack a fellow brother?

If Jaime weren’t wearing black, it would’ve been easy. But he was part of the Watch now.

With no Lord Commander, department heads were in charge of their own men. Theoretically, Jeremy, along with the Chief Officer and the Artisan, could command all except the Logistics Department—run by Aegor West.

But that was only in theory. Unlike Benjen Stark, Jeremy lacked wide respect. If White Walkers attacked, the brothers would rally. But asking them to fight other sworn brothers—like Jaime and his fully armed group of fifty? How many would actually obey?

Even if they managed to subdue him, what would the world think of infighting among the Night’s Watch?

He was going to lose face today. Since that was inevitable, he might as well choose the path with the least consequences.

“Jaime, are you truly set on sending Mance Rayder’s family to Crown Town?”

“I am.”

“You will ensure they reach Crown Town and are handed over to the Logistics Department. If anything happens to them, or they escape, I will hold you personally responsible. And after completing this task, you must return to Castle Black to accept punishment for your insubordination.”

Jaime was always impatient, but not to the point of senseless defiance. Since the First Ranger had compromised, he didn’t mind showing a little deference. “As you command, my lord.”

For a lord to yield to a subordinate was a humiliation. But what could be done? The Night’s Watch had grown too weak. Even a mere fifty men from House Lannister were untouchable.

Castle Black’s old, sick, and injured couldn’t match the Westermen, but the Northmen brought by Robb Stark and the other lords were not to be taken lightly. Jeremy resolved to send a fast rider to Robb at Nightfort, reporting that the Kingslayer had taken the black and was now acting with impunity at the Wall.

If the Watch couldn’t deal with him, someone else would.

The Chief Officer and the Artisan clearly understood the Watch’s lack of strength. After exchanging looks, they offered no objection to Jeremy’s decision.

…

What did that mean? Were they letting him go?

Hearing the brief exchange between Jeremy and Jaime, how could Yohn Royce not understand? Shock and fury surged in his chest. If the Kingslayer and Mance Rayder’s family escaped today, he would have no way to block Aegor, no way to stop the shameless cur responsible for his son’s death from rising to Lord Commander.

“Over my dead body!” he bellowed, drawing his steel sword with a sharp clang—not to duel Jaime, of course. “Compromise will ruin the Night’s Watch! Soldiers, draw your weapons! No one leaves Castle Black today!”

Dozens of followers unsheathed their weapons at once. The Westermen responded without hesitation. In the courtyard, the sharp, cold sound of steel filled the air, and the black brothers who had merely been watching hurriedly backed away, fearing a full-blown fight.

This was clearly about to escalate. And it was Yohn Royce’s final gambit—to force infighting, to force the Watch to choose sides.

(To be continued.)

***

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